


Inflection

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Marauders' Era, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-07
Updated: 2007-04-09
Packaged: 2019-01-19 22:47:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12419865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: [ Hourglass Nominee ] It's all the tiny details that make us right for each other.





	1. Inflection

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

**Disclaimer: nothing’s mine.**

 

**Inflection**

He loves saying her name, rolling it around his tongue with nearly the same pleasure received from a kiss. 

_Lily._

He finds many excuses and reasons to say it, many variations and styles in which to enunciate it. It’s a whisper that escapes his lips, a call of greeting from across the room, happily stated, seductively, angrily, curiously, teasingly, repeatedly.

He’s long since realized he’s grown possessive over her name, criticizing in his mind the way others vocalize it. Hearing her name on the lips of another boy, and he sometimes believes his ears have been magically attuned to both the sound of her voice and the softest mention of her, sparks a fierce jealousy within him and he usually vocalizes it in rapid fire fashion throughout the subsequent conversation, as if to prove no one else can say it quite like he can. 

He sometimes wonders whether he enjoys saying her name more than he delights in hearing her call out to him.

_James, dearest._

Well, he likes to think she would address him with such affection. It is a rare occurrence for her to ever actually say his name, for she has probably never in her entire life had to try and capture his attention before speaking. She captivates him, and she knows this, and if his eyes aren’t fixed on her when she’s around him, his head is tilted slightly in her direction as if to let her know exactly where his focus is. 

He loses himself in the feelings her name conjures up within him. He pictures the flower, of course, an entire field of them spread out before a majestic sunset. Lily, laughing, lying in a bed of her namesake, her hair weaving through petals as she gazes up at him twirling a flower around his fingers. He says her name over and over, tucking the lily behind her ear, and wishes a scene like this one could be real. 

He thinks he would be content to sit with her in his arms for the rest of his life, murmuring her name into her hair, her skin, her ear. One day, he is fairly certain the effect her name has on him will begin to work on her, as well, and she will demand to hear it, again and again and again. 

_Lilaydownwithme._

 

He marvels over the sheer brilliance of the word, praising her mother for both the beauty she had brought into the world and her ingenious choice of names. He promises himself he will one day kiss the feet of the woman responsible for Lily Evans. 

_Evans._

‘Lily’ is a word, a name, an idea, a feeling, a surrender. He curses himself for all those years he wasted calling her by her last name, wishing he had been perfecting his ability to turn a simple delivery into a vocal caress, a gentle cajoling of come hither and love me. 

He knows she loves him, and also knows she has shied away from saying it because she feels too young, feels unready. He is content to wait, pondering what the word ‘love’ would taste like in his mouth, but satisfying himself with playing with her name. When he does finally say that word, he wants her to smile and repeat it back to him, but only if she means it and only if she _knows_ she means it, free from pressure. Truth be told, he has begun his articulation of love already, though he keeps her in the dark about it. He says it in his mind a thousand times a day, and solemnly utters it on quiet nights to the three boys he trusts most in the world.

_Lovelily._

 

She has a fascination with touch. She comes up behind him in the Common Room and her hands dance along his shoulders, briefly massaging, before traveling up to tug on his hair. Then she’s leaning across one side of him, her arms wrapping around his chest as she hugs him from behind, her hair sweeping across his cheek and her lips lightly caressing his neck. It’s her signature way of physically saying _Hey, I’m here_ , and his friends despair over her ability to render him unable to carry on a conversation in a matter of moments. She’s often found sitting on his lap when there are empty seats to either side of them, and she’s the one likely to slide her fingers in between his as they walk next to each other. She enjoys picking up his hand as they sit in the Common Room, or the library, or the Great Hall, or outside, and running her fingernail across his palm. Sitting next to him on the couch, she moves close enough so their thighs touch, or she’ll sit on the floor and rub his feet. 

She is always in motion, a green and red blur of energy, and he associates her wandering nature with her roaming hands and considers himself the luckiest guy alive to be the one she’ll stop and sit down for, even if her hands are still waving around and her feet are still tapping. He reckons one day he’ll teach her the art of relaxing. They’ll spend all day in bed, they’ll take a bath, they’ll just be. Maybe one day they’ll find a field like the one he pictures when he says her name and set up camp for the rest of their existence, living off of love.

They still argue as they did before, but he notes the change. Fond exasperation has replaced the offended anger, and she has grown tolerant of his mischievous nature, going so far as to even join in on a prank or two here and there. She throws her arms in the air after he’s found the right button to push and abandons her love of touch, pulling away when he tries to pull her close. In the end, she can resist him for only so long and finds her way back into his arms. 

_Lily…_

A cold winter night sweeps across the school and they take up residence in front of the fireplace, keeping warm. Both are quiet, their thoughts jumbled by the effect of being close to each other. She twists and fidgets in his arms, burrowing her face in his chest before planting a kiss in the hollow of his throat. She smiles to herself as he shivers, knowing it has nothing to do with the cold. His hand plays with her hair and his lips brush against her forehead.

“Lily,” he murmurs, as only he can, and she pulls back.

Their eyes meet, his steady and loving, hers seemingly wildly intoxicated. One corner of his mouth lifts up in that smile he reserves for her, only her, and she tilts her head until she’s close enough to kiss him, her words nothing but breath on his face. 

“I love the way you say my name.” 


	2. Delirious

**I was fairly certain _Inflection_ was a one shot, but….I wrote this and felt as if it was a sort of continuation….so here we are. I hope you enjoy. It’s not the typical ohmygodJamesisSOhot viewpoint. **

 

He is not the most attractive boy she has ever seen. 

She should know. She spends a lot of her time studying him. And, she’s seen a lot of boys. 

He comes together very nicely, she must admit, but it is unfortunate his friends are so attractive. When you start to dissect James’s features, you realize his nose is rather large, his eyes are relatively plain, his hair is disorderly, and those glasses are just in the way. He’s a mess, she’s decided. His appearance is a mess, his demeanor is a mess, everything about him is just… _messy_.

He’s very tall, too tall and thin to be very muscular at all, despite all the rumors about his famous Quidditch-produced body. Oh, his limbs are sculpted well enough, he does need to toss a Quaffle about, after all, but he is by no means a perfectly muscled specimen. He is not a physical god, no matter what she hears the other girls saying about him. They don’t know him like she knows him. 

He’s very lanky and she possesses a quirky fear every so often that she could get lost if he holds her too long in those arms that go on forever.

He’s stronger than he looks, but that does not stop her from telling him constantly that if it came down to it…she could kick his ass. He laughs each and every time, trying to sound condescending to make her angry. It works. And, sometimes, when he takes the joke too far, his ass gets kicked. He’ll never tell her he lets her win because he won’t hit a girl…he knows she thinks that viewpoint is chauvinist and it would only infuriate her more. Some days, though, she kicks his ass a little _too_ well, and he isn’t sure if he should be embarrassed or turned on.

He’s such a quick laugh that it’s contagious. Sometimes, she swears to her friends that she knows James is laughing somewhere, an infectious grin spreading across her face. She hates herself for it, but she sometimes turns into a giggling buffoon around him, her teeth flashing shiny and ivory and her eyes sparkling. He wears laugher on his robes, it’s everywhere, it’s everything, it’s _him_. He wouldn’t be _James_ if he wasn’t such a clown. 

Her gaze has long since stopped resting on Sirius, the boy she knows most of the girls consider to be the best looking in the entire school. Sometimes she thinks part of the reason behind all the swooning over James’s best friend stems from his lack of interest, his off-limits persona. She knows that she, at least, never looked at him in _that_ way. Her eyes slide so easily past Sirius now, eager to allow the image of James to rest in her mind, that she sometimes fails to notice he’s even present. It should bother Sirius, but it doesn’t, because it contents him to see his best friend so happy. 

And then there is Remus, with his dazed eyes and pale features. He’s the mysterious one, the one no girl has been able to figure out. He’s the nice one, the calm one, the only one that can ever make James and Sirius listen to reason, even if it is an extremely rare occurrence. Peter is the tag along. She watches him look up to the others and she feels a burst of pity, being extra nice to him whenever she can. 

She loves being alone with James, but she also cherishes the moments she spends with all of the Marauders, their talk and laughter enveloping her in a warm aura. She’s usually sandwiched in between James and Sirius on the couch in the Common Room, James with his arm around her and his fingers playing with her hair, Sirius with his hand slapping her knee whenever he gets too excited about something. Sometimes she joins in, getting in her own jokes, usually at James’s expense, and earns appreciation and a place in the group. Other times, she snuggles in closer to James, resting her head against his chest, and simply allows their goodness to wrap itself around her, the illusion of safety. 

She finds she cannot be in the same room as James without wanting to be close, very close to him. Her skin itself longs for his touch, pulling and struggling to be free of its attachment to her body. She realized one day that she wasn’t unlike a dog, straining against its tied leash to attempt to bolt forward, having spotted its beloved owner and now feeling a desperate need to leap upon this person, show affection, dance and kiss and _touch_. She never tells James about this symbolism she came up with, for she knows he would simply laugh at her. And then the next time she saw him, he’d have a box of dog biscuits or a collar or _something_ ridiculous, because he was always doing something outrageous with his time. “C’mere, puppy,” he’d be saying, waving the treat or toy in front of her face. 

And then she’d roll her eyes and try to be offended and walk away, but he would grab her arm, slide his hand down to hers, and she’d roll her eyes again, but this time at herself, and she’d be jumping into his arms just like a dog, licking his cheek and barking maniacally until they dissolve into laughter, limbs entangled. 

It happens one night when they’re sitting by the fire, her eyes full of him. 

“I don’t understand why Sirius can’t find a girl,” she says, frowning. 

He shrugs. “He doesn’t have the patience for dating.”

She chuckles, knowing it was true. “I mean, it’s not like he _can’t_ find one, he’s the most attractive boy in our year.”

There is a silence and she instantly realizes she’d put her foot in her mouth. Struggling to spit it out as fast as she could, she glances up at him in a panic. “Besides you, I mean.”

He gives her a half-hearted smile and she knows the damage had been done. There is a guarded expression in his eyes that hadn’t been there a moment ago and a quiet desperation creeps over her soul. 

“James,” she begins earnestly, before he interrupts her.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, and his voice isn’t cold, or chilly even, but it lacks the special warmth she knows he reserves just for her. And _damn it_ , she already feels the need to shiver. 

“I _am_ worried,” she says quickly, and she reaches up to rest a hand against his cheek, twisting in his arms. 

He hesitates, and then speaks with more insecurity than she’d thought he had the capacity for in his entire lifetime, let alone one question. “You don’t… _like_ Sirius, do you?”

Her mouth drops open. She stares. No, she _gapes_. “You idiot.”

“Don’t call me an idiot,” he protests, but even this statement lacks passion, when she had grown used to flinging insults and hollering curses across crowded rooms. 

“No, I do not _like_ Sirius!” she says angrily. “You _are_ an idiot.”

“You just think he’s nice to look at.”

“Well, he _is_.”

“The nicest.”

“James-”

“No, it’s okay. Why don’t we get a portrait done of Sirius that you can carry around always?”

“Will you _stop-_ ”

“Or, _better yet_ , I can just wear a Sirius mask all the time.”

She stares, certain she’d find a stranger before her. James had never, ever spoken to her like this. She studies his expression, the way he wouldn’t meet her eyes. He wasn’t…jealous, exactly. On some level, he probably feels a little bite from that nasty green monster. But most of it was just that she’d hurt his feelings. And that kills her anger in a moment. After all, if James were to make a comment like that about one of _her_ best friends, she knows she’d cry herself to sleep that night. 

“You don’t understand,” she says finally, and when he opens his mouth to speak again, she quickly continues. “It’s different with you.”

“Different,” he mutters. “What am I, an alien?”

“No,” she says, and she strokes his cheek gently, trying to get him to look at her. “You’re James Potter. You’re the only boy I _ever_ look at. I have my own personal portrait of you on the back of my eyelids because I’ve spent so much of my time memorizing your features. Did you know that your grin, that famous Potter grin, you know the grin you _said_ was just because of me, that grin of yours makes girls’ hearts skip a beat whenever you flash it around. Especially this girl’s heart. And did you know that when you laugh, your eyes light up and become, somehow, even more golden, and then you instantly look around for me, because you don’t want me to miss out on a good laugh. You don’t realize that what I don’t want to miss out on is your bleeding bedroom eyes. You hear me? You have _bedroom eyes_. And you will never hear me say that again, so-”

James pulls her closer abruptly, as if he were going to kiss her, but then he simply pulls at a piece of her long hair, twirling it around his fingers, his breath coming out in gentle huffs against her face. 

“I’m not finished,” she squeaks out, trying not to look down towards his mouth, knowing if she did that she was a goner. 

“Why? You know you had me at ‘You idiot.’” He smiles, and his own eyes drop down towards her lips. She licks at them nervously, and he darts his head down toward them instantly.

She pulls back, shoving the fireworks to the back of her mind, and he groans, burying his face in her neck. 

“James, this is _important_ ,” she protests, even as her hands explore along his chest. 

“Then keep your hands to yourself, you tease,” he says, even as his own hands wander about her slim frame. 

She narrows her eyes at him, but lets the joke go, instead sitting up to straddle his lap, her arms around his neck firmly. 

“James, while I may find Sirius attractive, that doesn’t mean that I am attracted _to him_ ,” she says, blinking quickly. “I’ve long since realized that I am only attracted to tall…stunningly handsome….”

His face falls slightly, though he tried to hide it. 

“…lanky…”

She runs her hands along his arms, a vague thought in the back of her mind. _Today’s the day I get lost._

“… _idiots_ with glasses and messy hair.”

He glances up, surprised, and then grins. Her heartbeat pauses, then picks up again to race along. 

“I love you,” he says, and kisses her before she can return the statement, needing it from her physically rather than verbally. 

It’s a very nice snogging session, both pull back from it with mussed up hair and disorderly clothes, but Lily glances up at him and beams.

“The look in your eyes after you kiss me makes you the sexiest man in the _world_.”

**I’m not sure how many chapters there are going to be…just that I feel the need to explore their characters every once in a while. Hehe. And, I need a break from FMD. So, let me know what you think!**

 

**Thanks for reading.**


	3. Hysterics

  **Whoever nominated 'Inflection' to the Hourglass Awards....thank you, thank you, thank you. I'm honored. =)**

 

Oh, she’s in one of her moods again. He can practically feel her flinging her emotions around like spells as she stomps into the Common Room. 

She stomps her way over, one final bang against the floor ending her journey to the couch he’s lazily slouched upon, one leg resting on the table in front of him. 

He grins, glances up, takes in her stance: hands on her hips, posture rim-rod straight, narrowed eyes.

“Hi, honey.”

“James,” she practically hisses, her eyes practically crossing as she glares. 

Merlin, he loves her when she’s angry. 

She’s beautiful in every emotion she wears, but there’s something about the fire in her eyes when she’s yelling at him that makes him want to kiss her silly, which usually results in a slap or a punch and even more anger on her part…starting the whole cycle all over again. 

“ _Please_ tell me that that was _not_ you flying around the Great Hall during dinner tonight with your invisibility cloak on.” 

“Well, if you want the truth…”

“ _Yes?_ ” 

“It was actually during dessert.”

Lily slowly drew her wand. James eyed it curiously, still grinning lazily. “Do you think this is funny, James?”

“Am I still being honest?”

“…”

“Come on, Lily. It was like…an after-dinner show. It _was_ funny!”

“What about the first year who thought it was a ghost attacking and fell backwards over his bench and is now down in the Hospital Wing with a mild concussion? Is _that_ funny?” she demanded, tiny sparks flying out of the end of her wand.

James hesitated, still confused about whether he was supposed to tell the truth, and that split second was all the answer she needed.

“It is NOT funny, James! You could have been hurt! People could have been hurt! You could be expelled!” 

James rolled his eyes. “Do you honestly think this lecture still works on me? Or…more importantly…do you honestly think it ever worked?”

There was a silence. Sirius let out a low whistle from the back of the room. Lily’s eyes didn’t stray from James’s as she slowly nodded, her eyes drawing a shade over themselves.

“Fine,” she said quietly, holding up her hands in defeat. “Forget that I ever tried to care about you.”

“Oh, stop it,” James said, reaching out and grabbing her hand before she could turn and storm away. “I love that you care.” 

Completely and totally unexpectedly, Lily’s eyes began to fill with tears. James stared, shocked, his jaw slowly unhinging. 

“No, no, no, stop, I didn’t mean to make you cry, please stop, I’m sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry,” he begged, squeezing her hands and pulling her close. He had never seen Lily cry before and the fact that he had caused it made him feel on par with the Giant Squid. 

Lily laughed, swiping at her eyes and resting her forehead on his chest. He pulled her over to the couch, refusing to let go of her hands.

“You’re always doing something stupid,” she said, and her eyes began to water again. He reached up with one hand, brushing at her cheeks with his thumb. 

“And you talk about being an Auror or a Quidditch player or something else dangerous, and, James, when you do something stupid in one of those fields, it’s not _funny_. You could _die._ You probably _will_ die, if you keep doing things like that. And then….and then where will I be?”

Lily’s tear-filled eyes met his own stricken ones, and they stared at each other. She took several shuddering breaths, her forehead riddled with distress. 

It was in that moment that James realized if he wanted any chance at a strong future with Lily Evans, he was going to have to truly grow up. 

 

 

**No, I'm not pleased with this chapter.**

**thanks for reading, as always**


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